No Onions, No Weeping, No Kids
"What do you mean there aren't any onions left?" An outraged McCormick asked the produce manager. "How in the world am I supposed to make stuffing without onions?"
The manager gave him a pitying look. "Look sir, Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I have sold out of onions and I won't get another shipment in until Friday. Why don't you try Milligan's market? They might have some."
"I already tried there. They don't have any either, some kind of shortage. The judge is gonna kill me. His aunt mailed me this great stuffing recipe that he really wants for dinner tomorrow but I have to have two big Vidalia onions." Mark ran his hand through his shaggy hair.
"Too bad, kid." With that parting shot, the manager left, shaking his head. Mark got the distinct impression that the man didn't really give a flip about HIS predicament.
Mark went through the rest of the market quickly picking out the rest of the ingredients for his first try at making Thanksgiving dinner on his own. Sarah had mailed him instructions for the turkey and the rest of meal was coming out of boxes or cans, not that the Honorable Judge Milton C. Hardcastle would care as long as there was food on the table. Rounding the corner by the baking aisle, Mark stopped in amazement as he watched a young child start screaming at his mother.
"I want brownies!" the boy yelled, pointing to a brightly colored box on the shelf.
"And I said 'no'" his mother answered calmly as she compared brands of flour.
"But I WANT it!" her child yelled, even louder than before.
Mark covered a grin as the mother ignored the yell. Behind Mark, an older woman glared at the child, clearly giving her silent opinion of the preschooler's behavior. He heard her mutter, "Kids," in a thoroughly outraged tone before she turned and left the aisle. Mark knew he should leave as well, but the mother's calm attitude amused him. He really wanted to see how she handled her little monster. In the course of his life, Mark had seen many children throw temper tantrums and had seen mothers handle them in any number of ways. This time, however, he couldn't tell that the mother even perceived that her child was creating a disturbance.
The boy had stopped yelling and had started tugging on his mother's skirt. He was giving it a determined yank in time with his ragged breathing. She continued to ignore him as she moved on to the selection of baking chocolate. Her little boy gave up tugging on her skirt and flopped himself down in the middle of the aisle and started screaming at the top of his lungs. "I want brownies! You don't love me anymore! If you loved me, you'd get me best brownies in the whole world!"
Mark was openly smiling by this time. He could remember trying this same stunt only one time in his life, a stunt that had a quick ending with his mother's hand finding it's mark on the seat of his jeans and a promise of more at home. This mother on the other hand seemed to be enjoying herself listening to the screams and cries of her little...child. He folded his arms and leaned against the shelf to watch the rest of the drama.
Mark turned his attention to the young woman. Her brunette hair was stylishly fashioned, her blue dress was prim and proper and matched her pumps and earrings perfectly. The smile on her face would have made any model proud and one would think that she didn't have a care in the world. She certainly didn't seem to think that the screams and yells of the child on the floor behind her merited her attention. Offhand, Mark couldn't for the life of him figure out her strategy.
The child on the floor continued his barrage. By this time he was lying on his stomach, kicking his feet and banging his head on the floor. Interestingly enough, not a single tear dripped down his freckled face. The entire show was becoming more and more amusing. A hand on his shoulder quieted his screams for just a second. He turned to look at his mother who was squatting down beside him.
"When you're finished, dear, I'll be over in the dairy section picking out some milk and whipped cream for the cherry pie. Just find me over there. Carry on now." With that advice, the young woman resettled her purse and pushed her cart down the aisle and around the corner. She didn't look back to see if her child noticed her absence or not.
The saga of the non-existent onions was forgotten as Mark stared in open amusement at the story being played out before him. The boy on the floor had stopped screaming and now looked around wildly. He jumped up and ran after his mother. "Mommy! I'm sorry, I won't cry no more! I want ice cream..." his cries faded as he raced down the length of the store after his mom. Shaking his head in amusement, Mark continued with his shopping as well.
Arriving back at the estate, Mark carried in the first armload of groceries and put them on the counter in the kitchen. He turned to go out for the last load just as the judge came in carrying them in his arms. "Thanks, Judge." he said as he took the bags.
"What all did you buy, kid? Feels like you bought out half the store. It's just the two of us, kiddo and you've already got the turkey thawing out in the fridge."
"Well, Hardcase, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. You know, give thanks for all you have, stuff yourself silly, watch a few bowl games, stuff yourself some more, then fall asleep in front of the tv set." Mark's grin stretched from ear to ear.
"There's a bit more than that," Hardcastle tried to correct him.
"Yea, like being thankful that your bright orange parrot shirt finally fell apart." Mark quipped as he sorted out the groceries.
Hardcastle snorted, then showed off the new t-shirt he was wearing. "That's okay, I got this one just yesterday." The plain black shirt had a simple line printed in white across his chest. "Lady Justice is a mean old bird" read the shirt.
"I got a few more things to add to that," Mark said with a grin.
"Oh yea, like what?"
"Simple." Mark ticked off the items on his hand. "One, no onions, all the stores are sold out. Two, no weeping all over the place as I try to chop up said onions. And three, and this is the most important, no kids at Gull's Way!" Laughing at Milt's puzzled expression, Mark proceeded to fill in the details as the two of them finished putting away the groceries and planned their Thanksgiving day together.